Queenslayer
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Kingslayer, Kinslayer, Queenslayer. In the end, Jaime bore all of those titles.


**Queenslayer**

"Kingslayer, kinslayer, queenslayer. Or is kingslaying and queenslaying the same thing?

Daenerys I Targaryen, first of her name, rightful queen of the Andals and the First Men, Breaker of Chains, Breaker of Shackles, the Unburnt, Mhysa, and Mother of Dragons, beheld the sight before her. The Iron Throne, in all its small, disappointing glory – the seat forged in fire by House Targaryen, containing a thousand blades in myth, containing a mere few dozen in reality. The body of the Mad Queen lying before the chair, blood in her belly, fire in her dead eyes. And on the throne itself, the Kingslayer. The one who had betrayed her father. The one who had served the Usurper. The one who bore the name of Jaime Lannister, and no formal title bar "Ser," and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, or what was left of it. A man without titles, and a man without power as she led her forces into King's Landing. A man who, she assumed, had killed his own sister less than an hour before. In the small hour it took for her forces to secure the city, her dragons the skies, and the people to flock to her banner. In triumph, accompanied by her Queensguard, she had marched into the Red Keep itself.

All that, and the Mad Queen was dead already. It was almost disappointing.

"You haven't answered my question."

Dany's eyes flashed. She was used to arrogance, ignorance, dismissal, and all manner of ill-begotten thoughts that had plagued her from Pentos to Meereen. All of that, and yet to see the Kingslayer sit there, so…uncaring?

"Well, no matter. It's your right to be silent. I suppose you have to save your voice for when you address the smallfolk." He cast a glance to the side. "Sept of Baelor's gone. The Red Keep is nice, but it doesn't have that same godly, goodly feel."

No, not uncaring, she decided. Dead. As in, dead to the world. To men and gods both.

"I know who you are," she said. She walked towards the Iron Throne, to the Kingslayer. Her Queensguard made a motion to accompany her, but a glance from their queen made it clear that they were to remain where they were. No dragons, no armour, a mere dagger in her side. She would not be cowed by a pretender who sat on her throne.

"Your brother has told me so much about you."

A spark in his eyes, but little more. One hand on his sword, the other yet another falsehood. Even with two, she would not fear him.

"Others have told me less charitable tales."

"So my fame has spread across the Narrow Sea." The Kingslayer smirked. "Or infamy, I suppose." He gestured towards the Mad Queen. Cersei Lannister, first of her name, the one whose reign might well have been the shortest in the history of the Iron Throne. The one who had spawned Joffrey the Illborn, Tommen the Child King, and a third child whom she knew was also dead. The house spawned by the Usurper had reached its end. So too might House Lannister.

"I stabbed her in the belly you know." He gestured to his sister's body. "Ned Stark might have preferred that. "Your father…I suppose you're going to kill me anyway, so I won't lie and say I felt any inclination to give him an honourable death."

"And your sister had earned such honour?" She kept her words firm and cordial. "Is a Mad Queen less monstrous than a Mad King?"

She was my sister. She was the mother of my children. She was the only woman I'd ever been with." He looked into the eyes of the Unburnt, and for a moment, Dany wondered if he was going to use that sword of his. "That's reason enough to give her a better death than dear Aerys Targaryen."

"And why kill her at all?"

"Because twenty years ago I saved the lives of everyone in this city. I'd prefer that as many of them stay alive as possible." He smiled sadly. "Oh yes. She was aware of the wildfire. Baelor's sept might have gone up in flames, but there's more than enough for the rest of King's Landing." The smile shifted. "I'll say I'm impressed that you didn't burn the whole place down with your dragons. It's more than my father ever did."

"One might say we both had horrible fathers," Dany said, her voice still cordial. "And likewise guilty of kinslaying."

She looked at him as he looked back. Golden hair. A ferocity deep within him, down to the last moment. Gold, reflecting the light of fire. She blinked, and wondered whether she was seeing Jaime Lannister, or Viserys Targaryen.

"So then," Jaime said. He walked off the throne and towards his future queen, provided that she deigned him worthy of living that long. "The Iron Throne's yours. I wish the most for your reign."

She held up a hand, and he stopped, but continued talking. "You can do what you want of course," the Kingslayer said. "Ned Stark didn't listen to anything I had to say two decades ago, bar not wanting to sit on a chair with a sword up my arse. You want to have one up your cunt, you're welcome to it."

"You speak much of swords. I assume you're aware that you have served four monarchs, all of whom were my enemy, and all of whom I'd have put to the sword if necessary." Her gaze narrowed. "You're also aware that I am speaking to one who killed one of those monarchs himself, and the same monarch whose death secured the reign of Robert Baratheon."

"I know my history."

"So you know that I have little reason to keep you alive." She nodded to her Queensguard, and they walked forward. "Take this one to the black cells. I understand he has experience with the darkness down there."

He made no move to resist. Not when his sword was taken, nor when his hand was stripped from its stump. He looked dead already. Consigned to the fate that he had brought upon himself. Partially, at least.

"Why not kill me now?" The voice was soft, yet loud enough to tell her that he cared little for the answer.

"I value your brother's counsel. I'd prefer him to think with a clear head. You keeping your own will aid in that."

"Of course."

The Queensguard led the Kingslayer away. She spared not a glance for them as she walked to the Iron Throne. Even this close, it was disappointing. Yet, it was functional. Impractical, elaborate, but still functional. With calm repose, she took her seat. In calm repose, she rested her arms on its sides. In calm repose, she noted that no blood was shed. The throne had accepted her. The swords would not mar her flesh.

"If I may, your grace?"

She looked back at the Kingslayer. Only small favour would be granted, if only for his accepting her of her title.

"If I may ask…what shall be done with my sister?"

She spared a glance at the body. She had no love for the wife of King Robert, of the mother of monsters, of the one who had followed the worst indulgences of her father. And yet, she had some small measure of love for the queen's younger brother. And just enough love to ask her hand's elder brother, "what would you have me do with her?"

He lowered his gaze, and spoke softly. "The ashes of her father and children are below the sept. If she could join them…"

"There are the ashes of over a dozen men and women in that sept. Why sully them with her presence?"

"Because…" He bit his lip, and Dany could see the cracks in the armour. "Because if the gods are just, she might find her way to those she loved. However few in number those were."

She smiled. "Very well. The queen's body shall be burnt, and her memory forgotten. You, Kingslayer, may keep her in your memory for as long as you live."

She waited for him to ask, "how long?" But no words escaped his lips. No fire escaped his eyes. Just nothing. Nothing but the turning of the wheel, the sound of flickering fire in the throne room, and the music of the game of thrones.

So she sat as he left the throne room. She sat, and waited, and pondered.

She had won.

Long live the queen.

* * *

 _A/N_

 _Hardly the first person to guess that this will occur, but I'm nonetheless calling it that season 7 will involve Cersei dying at Jaime's hand, and Dany walking in to see it, mirroring Ned walking in on Jaime after killing Aerys. Whether I'm right or wrong, drabbled this up regardless._


End file.
